


In The Aftermath

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:30:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock and Mycroft's visit to the morgue to see Irene Adler's body, Mycroft pays a visit to his lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> An answer to a sherlockmas prompt ("Mycroft/Lestrade - post-morgue visit in Scandal in Belgravia"). This is my first time writing this ship even though I've shipped it for months, so I hope I did them justice.

While Sherlock may have deduced that his wife was having an affair, he was completely clueless as to Lestrade’s own affair. Maybe he saw it and said nothing considering who the other person involved was, but Lestrade didn’t know for sure. As long as it never became common knowledge, he didn’t care. It would have been bad enough for him to have an affair with a woman, but to have an affair with a man was quite different. And to be the specific man it was? Well, that was just asking for trouble.

Lestrade had known he was attracted to both men and women since he was young. He had been a child during the sexual revolution, but he had seen a lot and it had stuck with him. When he had been a young punk he had hidden the side of himself that was attracted to men; it didn’t fit in with the image he was trying to portray as a tough boy in the neighborhood. It wasn’t until he was older, more stable and less eager to get into fights that he explored that side of himself. He’d married his wife without telling her, and he knew that made him a bastard. But their marriage had been loving at first, and he’d managed to forget his attraction to men and concentrate solely on her. Then work had intervened, life had happened, and they’d drifted apart. He knew she was having an affair long before Sherlock did, and at first it had left him lonely.

When Mycroft Holmes had first approached him with the proposition that he allow his fresh out of rehab brother to consult for him, he hadn’t known what he was getting into, not with Sherlock but more importantly not with Mycroft. At first Mycroft would drop by for reports, wanting to know how his brother was doing. Most of the time he showed up at the yard, but a few times they would meet at his home, and some other times they would meet at a pub. Mycroft never let his guard down, and that had intrigued Lestrade. He didn’t know when he started to feel an attraction towards Mycroft, but it was there, and he wanted to do something about it, if Mycroft was open to it.

As far as most of the world was concerned, if Mycroft had any romantic attachments it was to his assistant Anthea, who was by his side most waking moments. No one would have guessed for the last five years that he would spend some of his precious personal time with Lestrade. Lestrade certainly never would have guessed, when he had made his move. Lestrade never would have guessed Mycroft would reciprocate. But he had, and Lestrade had to admit that this relationship fulfilled him a lot more than his actual marriage. That was why he didn’t care about his wife’s affair, to be truthful: his own affair was a rather fulfilling one.

It was Christmas now, in the aftermath of the disastrous party at Sherlock’s. It had been a train wreck of epic proportions, he thought, and as he let himself into his home an hour after the end of it he just wanted to sleep the whole night off. But he had gotten a text from Mycroft to wait up for him, so he would. He had the place to himself since his wife was off with her family on the other side of the country. Tonight it would be safe for Mycroft to come round to his home, though he expected nothing would happen tonight. He got himself a bottle of ale and went to the fireplace, starting a fire, and then he waited.

The knock that sounded two hours later didn’t surprise him, though the time lapse did. He went to answer the door and saw Mycroft standing there, snow on his collar. Lestrade moved out of the way wordlessly, and Mycroft entered his home. It had been a long while since Mycroft had been there; normally if they met Lestrade went to him. So it was already going to be an unusual evening. “I take it this has to do with the gift Sherlock received, the one he picked up after he got the text,” Lestrade said as Mycroft went to go sit by the fire.

Mycroft nodded. “It was a phone. A very specific phone. It came at a cost.”

“Someone died?” Lestrade asked. He went over to his liquor cabinet and opened it. He took a glass and poured a measure of whiskey into it before handing the glass to Mycroft.

Mycroft swirled the whiskey around in the glass. “Yes. Irene Adler.”

Lestrade’s eyes widened slightly. Mycroft may not have told him all his secrets, but he had talked about Irene a bit, about the secrets she held and the case he had sent his brother on. Sherlock had been drugged that day and while he’d dealt with it well enough Lestrade knew that had to have smarted, to be outdone by a woman like her. Sherlock was probably not taking her death well. “I’m sorry.”

“With the type of life she led it was to be expected, I suppose.” Mycroft took a long drink of whiskey. “I have John watching Sherlock tonight.”

“He went to the morgue to identify the body?” Lestrade asked, pulling out a second glass and pouring another measure of whiskey.

“Yes. I accompanied him. He took it well enough, but this is Sherlock we are talking about.” Mycroft looked over to Lestrade. “Will your wife be home tonight?”

Lestrade shook his head. “Not till the end of the week. Longer, if she decides to spend time with her lover before she returns.”

Mycroft smiled slightly. “So tonight I might be able to stay here.”

“I don’t see why not. It will be better than sleeping in that bed alone.”

“You are too good to me, Greg,” Mycroft said as Lestrade got nearer.

“No I’m not,” Lestrade said with a slight shrug. “If I was going to be good for you I wouldn’t be sneaking around my wife and lying to everyone I know. I know we have to be discreet, but it’s new times. We could be a bit more open.”

“With our jobs that will never happen,” Mycroft said, his smile turning to a frown. He sighed. “But this is an old argument we can save for another time.”

“Yeah, I know,” Lestrade said with a sigh. He stood next to Mycroft and placed a hand on his shoulder. Mycroft reached up and squeezed it once. “Let’s finish the drinks and go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

“Yes, it has,” Mycroft said, not removing his hand. The two men remained that way as they finished their drinks, each lost in their own thoughts. This relationship meant a lot to each of them, and they both knew there was so much that they could not do together, but it was moments like this that got them through, and that was what mattered in the end.


End file.
